


Cloves and Cinnamon

by Stellalana



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Feel-good, Fluff, One Shot, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellalana/pseuds/Stellalana
Summary: Seto Kaiba is the kind of man to work through the holidays. Christmas spirit isn't exactly his thing, even if his girlfriend wants to spend time together. But, maybe all he needs is a little push to find the true meaning of the season.





	Cloves and Cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

> I was talking about terrible Hallmark movies with one of my coworkers a few days ago, and afterwards started thinking up terrible Hallmark-y Christmas plots. Because of my unhealthy obsession with Seto Kaiba, my brain of course started to wander. So I decided to write a very festive, Christmas-themed one shot to celebrate the season. Enjoy!

Minus two degrees celcius, the late evening was bleak. A curtain of sleet blanketed Domino city, coating tree branches in wet snow and decorating rooftop edges with icicles. The work day had ended hours ago, and everyone had gone home to celebrate the holiday with loved ones. The denizens of the city were tucked away in their homes, away from the cold, some well into their night’s sleep, others staying awake with friends and family to celebrate the holiday season and coming of the new year. Fried chicken had long been put away, white sponge cakes eaten and small presents exchanged, Ode to Joy still lulling quietly to put children to sleep. 

Everyone was filled with the happiness Christmas brought, bathed in twinkling lights and enjoying the company of loved ones. Everyone, it seemed, but Seto Kaiba. He had not yet left the office, still working away at his computer as if it were an ordinary day. And, to him, it was. Just another day spent in Kaiba Corporation headquarters late into the night, drinking coffee to keep himself functioning like a well-oiled machine. That was, until something strange interrupted his usual routine.

“What are you still doing in the office?” A deep, familiar voice demanded from the doorway. Seto had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t even noticed his doors open, nor should he have expected it. It was late, already past two, no one was left in the building. 

His eyes snapped from the computer monitor, the only current source of light in his office aside from the faint glow of bright Christmas lights decorating the city below the row of windows behind him. With the rest of the room dark, it was practically impossible to see the identity of the man who had intruded upon his study. All he could make out was a silhouette; tall, just over one-hundred eighty centimeters, likely, with a thin frame and a long coat that passed his knees. 

“Didn’t you promise you would make time to spend Christmas with her?” The man chided, arms obviously crossed over his chest but form still too dark to make out otherwise. 

He was referring to-- although Seto had no idea how he would have known about it-- the conversation you and he had had a few days prior. You had asked him if he wanted to spend Christmas together, rather, you had asked if he would be willing to make time to spend Christmas with you. As far as he knew, you weren’t religious, at least not enough that the holiday had any large significance to you. When he’d asked you why Christmas was so important, you had merely shrugged. 

“I just don’t want to spend Christmas alone, is all.” You muttered dejectedly. 

You had moved away from your hometown some months ago, taking a large pay raise and a job that transplanted you to a quaint house on the outskirts of Domino. You’d mentioned once or twice, he recalled, that this would be your first holiday season away from your family and friends. 

Seto had said that with your new home in Domino you should start getting used to spending Christmas alone. He had meant it as a purely practical comment-- you might be able to travel to see your family every once in a while but the sooner you grew accustomed to holidays without them the happier you would be. But when he looked over at you, rather than your usual faint smile or dismissive shakes of your head, you instead looked like you were going to cry. 

He had said he would try to make time to see you, if only to keep the tears from spilling over your lower lids.

“I said I would--” Seto stopped himself short of finishing the sentence, furrowing his brow at the stranger in his office. This was not the time, nor was he the person to be defending himself to. He didn’t need to defend himself in the first place. Presently, there was a more pressing matter at hand. The fact that the man had made it into Seto’s office in the first place.

The only way to access the top floor, without going through either him or his secretary, was via the biometric scanner installed just above the keypad on the elevator. The only two people who were able to use said scan were himself and Mokuba, and judging by this man’s height and voice, he was positively not Mokuba. 

“How did you get in here?” He demanded.

“The elevator,” the man replied, a drop of boredom in his tone. His voice was definitely familiar, Seto might have even said it sounded like his own, had it not been a bit deeper and more modulated.

“You would only be able to come to this floor if you had access to either my or my brother’s DNA.” Seto pressed. 

“Correct.” He agreed, “Now that we’ve addressed that, onto more pressing matters. Why are you still in the office when your girlfriend is sitting alone on Christmas?”

“She’s hardly my girlfriend,” Seto dismissed, not entirely sure why he was bothering to argue with a complete stranger. He should have been calling security.

“But you’re in love with her.” 

“I’ve been seeing her for less than three months,” he insisted.

“And?” 

Seto’s frown deepened, not just because of the topic of conversation, one which he frankly had no inkling to why this man had the details of, but because of the strangeness of the situation. Whoever this person was, he was somehow able to access the top floor of Kaiba Corporation headquarters. On top of it, his gravelly voice was so eerily like his own that it almost felt like the young CEO was talking to himself. Somehow that seemed more plausible than the man actually being here-- without either Seto or his brother’s DNA there was no way to get to this office, and he would bet the entirety of his annual salary that there wasn’t a man alive who could hack that biometric scanner. 

“Gozaburo taught you love was a weakness--”

“How do you--?”

“--But I thought you would have realized by now that isn’t the case.” 

“Who the hell are you?” Seto demanded. 

“Oh please, don’t be an imbecile. Use that considerable intellect of yours,” the man practically groaned. 

A brief lull in conversation descended over the dark room, Seto’s jaw having locked itself in place as his face assumed a scowl. It was still much too dark to see the man, other than a silhouette, so even if he were to guess it was impossible to confirm unless he stood up and turned on a light. Somehow, however, that seemed like admitting defeat.

He had been awake for over thirty-six hours now, if he was tired enough to be talking to himself, then there was absolutely no way he was going to see you tonight. Even if he did manage to finish the work in front of him, he would need to at the very least take a three hour nap so he could come in tomorrow as well.

“I told her I would _try_ to make time to see her,” Seto finally maintained, only allowing himself the words so he could change the subject. 

“You and I both know you could make the time.”

“I have entirely too much work to do.” He contended.

“You’re afraid to get too close,” the stranger goaded, “I thought the great Seto Kaiba feared nothing?”

“I don’t.” 

The scoff that came from the darkness was enough to solidify Seto’s hypothesis, despite how insane it sounded. The tone of it was one entirely too familiar to his ears, so familiar that it sounded, frankly, exactly like his own. So, either this was all one big fever dream caused by lack of sleep, or the young CEO had a lot to look forward to in the future. He wasn’t positive which was more likely.

In the strained silence that followed, his ears focused on the sound of rain hammering the glass behind him, and a violent wind loud enough to be heard through the building. It was miserable evening, yet as he allowed himself to be absorbed in its resonance, he thought you would probably say it was peaceful. You did always love thunderstorms. This was the kind of night where you would beg to sit together on the porch to watch the rain, as you had done many times before, although he was typically too busy to humor your inclinations. Tonight was-- would be-- much of the same.

“There are things in this life more important than your job. Remember that.” 

With that, the stranger turned on his heels and made for the door. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Seto thought to remind him he would need to use the biometric scanner to get back down. He quickly dismissed the idea, however, clearly whoever this man was-- and he was fairly certain he knew-- he was able to use the elevator freely. 

He decided not to finish the thought. 

Seto stared at his computer monitor quietly for a moment, which turned into three, which turned into five. He couldn’t persuade his brain to continue working on the spreadsheet he had been in the middle of when he’d been so rudely interrupted. He found himself re-reading sections of the document three, four times, unable to concentrate. He reached a hand up to rub at his eyes, groaning. He needed another cup of coffee, clearly, if he had any hope of focusing once again. 

As he stood from his chair and grabbed his empty mug, crossing the dark office to the coffeemaker on the maple desk on the far right of the room, his ears picked up on the faint ticking noise made by the analogue clock overhead. He stared at it as he poured himself a refill, absently thinking to himself on how late it had gotten. Perhaps he should send you a message telling you he was unable to make the time to see you. Although, he suspected you already knew that was the case. It wasn’t as if you’d still be waiting for him at this hour. Still, better to send it than not. 

He reached into his coat pocket and produced his cell phone, scrolling through his small list of contacts to find your number-- rather, your name. You were one of the few people he had saved as a contact. He wondered if there was something to that statement. No, probably not. It had merely been done for convenience. 

The last message you had sent was _‘holy shit dude, this tree is wayyyyy too big for my living room. I feel like I’m being eaten by it whenever I sit down to watch tv.’_ He had never gotten around to responding to it.

He began typing a few sentences, telling you he had too much work to do to make time for you tonight, before thinking the way it was worded sounded a bit harsh. He deleted the message, trying to find better words to use so you wouldn’t take it the wrong way. It quickly became a more difficult task than he’d first anticipated. Six minutes passed by and he had nothing to show for his efforts, and at ten minutes he was still frowning at a blank text box. 

Damn it.

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ 

He had expected you to be in bed already, considering it was already well past three in the morning. Sleet was falling from the sky, making the ground slick and the air dismal at best. On a night like this, well past a reasonable hour for him to arrive at your home, there was no way you would have waited for him. Your living room light was on, he could tell from the small crack in your curtains that cast a sliver of golden glow, but it was probably just from Christmas lights that you’d neglected to turn off before going to bed. And, of course, you had already gone to bed.

Still, he knocked on the front door, knuckles hitting against the dark wood three times if for no other reason than to make himself feel better. He had made the effort to come all the way out here, it wasn’t his fault that you’d gone to sleep by the time he arrived. After the mandatory twenty seconds of waiting at your door, his conclusion was all but confirmed. As he made to leave, however, your deadbolt clicked, and be blinked down at it in mild surprise. You opened the door, makeup still on your face in almost pristine condition, a grin on your face the second your eyes met his. Why were you still awake? Still waiting for him?

“Merry belated Christmas,” you said. 

“Belated?”

You held up your watchless wrist, miming the act of checking the time, “Well it’s already past midnight so technically it’s not Christmas anymore.” 

You said nothing about that fact that because of the late hour he had technically made you spend Christmas alone. You stepped away from the door to let him in, quickly closing it behind him to shield him from the cold. Wordlessly, he removed his shoes and set them in the entryway, before stepping into the hallway to take a look at your living room. A large, twinkling, plastic tree sat in the corner, its limbs decorated with red and gold ornaments, most also crafted from a cheap plastic as he could tell from a glance.

“Have you been up all this time?” He asked. 

You nodded. 

“Were you planning to stay up all night waiting for me?” He raised an eyebrow. 

You face flushed rouge and you quickly averted your eyes from him, muttering something under your breath he was fairly convinced was just a series of unintelligible mumbles. You quickly cleared your throat and darted into the kitchen, saying something about getting him some hot cocoa. He might have protested, he wasn’t much a fan of sweets nor chocolate, but the way your voice raised an octave as you ran off momentarily disarmed him. 

You returned less than two minutes later with a mug of cocoa, steam wafting from its surface. He assumed it must have been kept warm, perhaps sitting on a low heat stove top element or covered with a lid. The liquid was thick and milky, a deep brown color that smelled of dark chocolate and something peppery. You were staring at him intently, waiting for him to take a sip, your eyes sparkling as if you wanted his approval. 

He blew on the surface of the deep umber a few times before taking a sip. It was richer than he’d expected, the only sweetness coming from the milk it had been made with. As it traveled down his throat, it left a warm, comfortably spicy sensation.

“Chili powder?”

“Cayenne.” 

He hummed in reply. You were still watching him, and rather than offering you any vocal praise for the adequate cup of liquid chocolate, he took another sip and decided to focus his gaze elsewhere. You had been right in your text message sent three days prior, the fake Christmas tree was entirely too large for your living room. He had to admit, at the very least, that it had been decorated well. You had obviously spent a lot of time on it-- on the entire house, actually. You had wrapped tinsel and ribbon on the stairwell railing, strung lights all along the molding, and hung ornaments and holly up so they looked like they were falling from the ceiling. Your home smelled like cloves and cinnamon, though if that was from baking or because you’d lit a candle somewhere he wasn’t sure. 

“I’m glad you made time for me,” you said quietly.

He snapped his gaze back to you, now finally taking the time to look over you properly. You were wearing an overly festive santa hat, the white wool that decorated it covered in a sparkly glitter that matched your eye makeup. You looked warm, bundled in an oversized red cable knit sweater with sleeves much too big for your arms. But it was the smile that was spread across your face that continued to hold his gaze, the way your eyes were alight as you stared at him.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” You asked. 

“You’re not tired? You have work in the morning.” 

You huffed, “I know but you just got here.” 

He rolled his eyes and took another sip of the cocoa, finding it surprisingly palatable the more of it he drank. After a few seconds of not offering any protests, you took that as a yes and grabbed his free hand, tugging him along to your couch. You asked what he wanted to watch, although he had no vested interest in even watching in the first place, so decided to let you pick whatever your heart desired.

“Tokyo Godfathers, then!” You smiled, “It’s tradition at this point, right?”

“Is it now?” 

“Well yeah, don’t tell me you haven’t seen it.” 

He said nothing, which prompted you to launch into all amounts of praise for the Satoshi Kon movie, telling him you’d seen it at least ten times and assuring him he would love it. He let wear yourself out as you started the movie, and as it began you fell blissfully silent, other than to quietly ask if you were allowed to snuggle into him. He lifted his arm, and you promptly curled up against his chest, placing a hand gently on his upper thigh. He had to pluck your santa hat off your head to keep it from rubbing against his neck, and to his surprise you offered no protests. You hardly moved from that position for the entirety of the film, other than adjusting your leg at one point, muttering something about a cramp.

You dozed off ten minutes before the credits rolled, your head nestled against his shoulder. At that point, he decided it was about time he get going. He still had work to do back at the office, and now that you were sleeping there wasn’t any point to him being here. It wasn’t as if you were going to miss him if he left. He could slowly maneuver you off of him without waking you, and even if you did stir it wouldn’t much matter. He had already fulfilled his promise of making time to come see you tonight, you had no reason to complain.

After fifteen minutes he, too, had fallen asleep on the couch.


End file.
